Forgotten Yesterdays
by stephunk
Summary: "I felt connected to him, in a way I didn't know, but it felt right and strong and a little bit scary."  A broken girl meets a broken boy, and their shattered pasts are woven into a mosaic of the future. Alice/Jasper. M for language, for now.
1. prologue

**WARNING****:** ADULT THEMES AND FOUL LANGUAGE.

* * *

_September 10, 2005_

My sneakers are pounding against the pavement as I press one of my icy hands to my aching cheek. I hear their sick laughter receding against the concrete walls and make my hurried way to the girls' bathroom.

I hate this.

I run into one of the dirty brown stalls and pull out my compact, dusting cover-up over the bruise blooming on my cheekbone. I fix my eyeliner with spit and a cotton swab and rub foundation over the finger-shaped bruises highlighting my upper arm. Moving the mirror so I can see my whole face, I see a dark trickle leaking out of my mouth.

That had better not be blood.

Crouching and pulling my hair back, I hock into the toilet to check the color of my saliva. Red.

Ugh.

I flush and unlock the stall, walking to the disgusting sinks and try to wash my hands without getting them dirtier.

I fix up my bleeding lip with some Neosporin and smile at myself in the mirror.

Welcome to high school.

Pulling my school bag onto my shoulder, I walk past the gum-smacking girls who had just witnessed my little doctoring exercise. Their eyes are wide open and they looked at me from head to toe, taking in my flawless sweater and jeans, and smooth dark hair. I can practically see the question forming in their head, _How did she get her lip busted open?_

Let them wonder. I have Biology next and I've heard the teacher is strict as death warmed over.

* * *

_three years later_

I spoon the last ice cube into my mouth. I'd rather have ice cream, but all that was left in the freezer were some moldy-looking popsicles.

Sucking hard, I stare out the window, trying to keep the tears in.

It doesn't help; not even ice can keep the waterworks at bay today. I throw the spoon, warm from my mouth, weakly against the counter. I'm not up to being angry, even at inanimate objects.

After a few seconds of silently letting the briny water drip down my chin, I wipe my eyes with the heels of my hands and stand up, unlocking the Jägermeister from the liquor cabinet without even looking. My breath hisses in pain as the lock falls on my head from my perch on the dusty wooden floor.

Dammit. Crying always gives me a headache, and this one was starting early.

I take a quick swig and sigh, tipping my head back. Daddy doesn't even touch this stuff; the digital lock that I had meticulously opened wearing latex gloves three years ago hadn't changed codes since.

My older sister walks in, all see-through-shirt and thigh-high boots, and grins at me through a painted mouth. She pulls the bottle from my hands, takes a hearty gulp, and winces, shuddering. She's more of a piña colada type of girl. Weighing the bottle in her hand, she takes in my red eyes and the spoon on the counter.

"Starting early today?"

I blink, yank the bottle back, and take a sip.

Then promptly hurl all over her boots.

I love me some whiskey, but my parents might as well have named me lightweight instead of Alice. Just sniffing a margarita gets me tipsy.

My sister screeches and looks at me in disdain, bending to unlace her stiletto-heeled leather boots. "You're disgusting."

"A... and... you... are... a... hoo... hooker!" I hiccup through the last word, making it sound like "(hic)er," and laugh hysterically. That is just too funny. I am suddenly sidetracked by the setting sun hitting the glass bottle, though, and put my hand up so I catch the ray in between my fingers.

"Look, light," I say sadly. Oh, now that is just tragic. Fresh tears well up in my eyes.

"God, you're wasted," my sister sneers, pinching her shoes in between her fingers and carrying them at arm's length to the hallway bathroom. I hear the switch click on and wince as the harsh artificial glow spill into my eyes.

I loll my tongue around and grunt. My breath is foul.

Staggering upstairs, I brush my teeth and drag myself to bed. When my older brother comes in, looking worried, I mumble some story about not feeling good and being tired, and make a point to say the word "menstruation" as loudly as I can. He scurries away like a rat on crack.

I fall asleep.

* * *

The next day is a Tuesday.

Damn Tuesdays.

I walk around school all day with bird's nest hair and red eyes, wearing black sweats that hug my ass and a shirt that exposes a hint of chest to keep people - guys, mainly, because girls are petty and don't do shit - from looking at my face. The color of the pants is a plus; when I get my weekly beating today the blood won't even show.

A group of pimply-faced freshmen who are too tall for their khaki pants nudge each other as I pass, trying to discreetly point my behind out to each other. I shoot them a look, and most of them cower. One of the more outgoing guys, though, gives me a leering once-over. I smile and turn my eyes to stone on him simultaneously.

His face goes white.

I sigh and prep myself mentally as I walk around back the old gym, slightly smug that the boys are now completely silent. The smugness disappears as I round the corner and face them. They give me their creeper stare and beckon me closer.

I walk toward them, seeing a sweet face behind my eyelids every time I blink.

This is for Edward. It's not about me.

* * *

Tanya, the big sister, wakes me up on Wednesday. Apparently, there's a cheerleading thing going on and she needs me to help her do her hair ribbons.

I give her a rude hand gesture and roll over.

She pulls me by the scruff of my t-shirt and throws me, WWE style, onto the wooden floor. My head hits it with a sickening crack and I look blearily up at her, rubbing the point of impact tenderly.

Ow. Fucker's strong.

"Up, bitch, and downstairs in ten minutes. Coffee's about to boil." She's staring at herself in my floor-length mirror as she speaks, adjusting her short white and blue cheer skirt, and flounces out the door once she's satisfied she looks sufficiently whorish.

Does U-Dub have _any_ standards?

Rubbing my head, I grin at Edward's sweet little face peering down at me from our bunk bed. He looks worried at first but relaxes at my smile.

"Go back to sleep, E."

He does. I throw my hair into a bun and put on some socks.

It's time for me to see about some ribbons.

* * *

My other brother, Emmett, confronts me the next day. His face is the first thing I see when I wake from a nap, all worried brown eyes and furrowed brows. He's holding a cold pack to the back of my head.

"I heard, yesterday," he says, ashamed. I rub his arm slightly. I don't blame him for Tanya's behavior at all, but seriously, man weighs over two hundred pounds – all sinew and muscle and bones of titanium – and he loses his balls over a hundred-and-ten pound cheerleader?

He sees my face and gives me a look, slugging my arm. "She's older than me. And _I_ happen to be older than _you_, so cut your internal bitching and let me take a look at the noggin."

I comply, grinning at him. He smiles back, but his eyes are hard.

"So, what were you doing behind the old gym on Tuesday?" he inquires casually, and suddenly I realize what he's getting at. I snatch the pack from where he's holding it to my head and scowl.

"Get out."

"Al, you can't do this-"

"The hell I can't-"

"It's not helping anyone! It won't stop them from-"

"You don't know that. You don't even know what I'm doing-"

"Not hard to guess, princess pie. You gotta stop."

"I'm not initiating it, Em-"

"Sounds the hell like it to me! I'm telling you, watch the fuck out. You know what they'll do next to you-"

"Out."

"Al-"

"Now, Emmett Brandon, or I will haul your sorry ass to the door myself." I know what they want to do to me, but fuck me if I don't go to hell and back before I allow something like that to happen.

He opens his mouth to say a smart comment, probably something demeaning and jocular about my weak-ass womanly self handling his 209.4 pounds of man meat, but I place my fingers warningly over the short, sensitive hairs at the nape of his neck and give him an are-you-sure-you-want-to-mess-with-this look. The mouth closes with a snap.

"Door's that way, Em. Thanks for visiting."

He flips me the double bird behind his retreating back and slams the door.

I don't have to check, though, to know that he spends the rest of the night sitting outside my door, waiting for me to open it and let him back in.

It's a pathetic thought, I admit it. He is sweet and caring, and nicer than anyone has been to me in a while.

I don't let him in.

* * *

Friday. God, how I love _Fridays_.

I'm in my room, holding a pair of heels up next to a sequined dress, trying to see if they work together. My dad walks into the room, rubbing his scruffy jaw tiredly, then looks at me and raises an eyebrow.

"Going somewhere, Alice?"

Hell. Can't exactly tell him that I'm going clubbing with Em and Tanya.

"School event," I invent hastily, "we have to dress up like a movie star."

"And…"

"And, um, I'm going as… Blake Lively?" I think of the leggy blonde and hope my dad doesn't recognize the name; the lie would be transparent.

"Who's that?"

"A celebrity." He raises his eyebrows as if to say, _what kind?_ and I groan. "From a _television _show_. _Jesus, dad."

"Oh. Well. Try to cover up more."

"_Okay_, Daddy." I look back into the mirror and check the outfit again. No, he's right, it's too trashy. I hear a sigh behind me as I toss the rejected items onto my bed.

"Alice," my dad begins awkwardly, "Um… You got accepted into Yale."

"Really?" I'm reeling inside, but shrug. Daddy doesn't know how to handle excitement. "Cool."

"Yes, good job…" He sighs again and sits heavily onto my chair. It creaks a little under his weight. "Honey, we can't afford it."

"Oh." This doesn't really surprise me. We've been living frugally since my mom left us four years ago. "It's okay, I applied for financial support."

Well, this is not wholly true. I've been working and have saved up quite a bit; I intern at a very prestigious, very wealthy hospital and the pay is fantastic. It's all sitting in my account at the bank – my own money. The idea still gives me shivers.

"But-" He stops and shakes his head and gets up to leave. "All right. Don't stay up too late tonight."

"Okay."

He pauses, and hugs me suddenly, as though the action was an afterthought. I freeze stiffly; my father has never been a very physically affectionate person, at least as far as I can remember.

"Take care of yourself, kid."

"I will." I hold up a simple black dress in front of my mirror, tilting my head – yes, this is the one – as my father casts a glance over my room and leaves.

The next day, my bank account is empty, and my father is gone.

* * *

a/n: so, here's to attempting a full story. and to twifan93, my lone reviewer. you're pretty awesome.

also, still seeking a beta.

and i am the world's worst updater. i'll try for the next few days but you may have to be patient, sorry. i'm erratic and impossible.

if you made it all the way down here, congratulations; hope to see you again next time.

-stephanie


	2. hello

WHOA I FORGOT A DISCLAIMER IN THE PROLOGUE. so, twilight isn't mine and neither are the characters x2.

still M, guys. some R-rated potty mouths here.

* * *

The next few months were… hell.

No relatives wanted us, because Tanya was over 21 and Em was 19 and thus were legal adults.

What they didn't know was that Tanya liked sleeping with men for money, and Emmett had a fifty-dollar-a-day nicotine fix, and that Edward had mental problems.

Not that this would have made them want us any more.

I spent my time busting my ass on three jobs and school. I got into U-Dub on a full scholarship; apparently I qualified for support anyway and had gotten in. I was smart, and all my apps looked good. Plus, I was poor, so that made the admissions people fucking Samaritans or some shit.

I watched silently as Em's nails turned yellow and crusty and as Tanya paraded men in and out of the house. I made sure they didn't do anything with Edward around.

I packed him lunch every night and read to him too. I kissed him goodnight and tucked him in.

Em would sometimes watch, hair wet from his shower, usually not smoking. He knew it pissed me off when Edward saw him holding a smoke. His eyes would be sad and when I finished and turned off the light, he would take me in his hard-ass arms and squeeze the living daylights out of me.

"You deserve that too," was all he'd say.

I wasn't perfect. I wasted too much money on my Jägermeister and left dishes unwashed in the sink. Once I forgot to go to the grocery store for a week and Edward lived quietly on an old jar of peanut butter and school lunches before I remembered.

Still, I tried to help. The house stayed livable, if scantily furnished, and the laundry washed. Edward and I had perfect hygiene. We brushed our teeth together for two minutes on the egg timer every night.

After I'd left high school, I wasn't beat up every week any more. I asked Edward every day whether or not he saw my assailants around, and every day he said no. They had been beating him up for a while before I'd found out, and that shit was not okay. Em didn't know, and if he did, it wouldn't help Edward a bit. The bullies were cowards who didn't want to deal with someone bigger than them, so they kicked Edward around until I took his place.

I went to school, a nondescript, short girl who took the bus like everyone else. I attended my classes and sat alone near the back. Some people tried to talk to me but I was quiet, something that they didn't understand. _Bitch_, they all whispered whenever I entered the room.

And then, one day, it was November 20, 2009. I can never forget that day.

I was just walking around campus when I saw a blond-haired boy take out a gun and point it at me. I guess I was nearest to him, or something, because I'd never seen him before in my life. Everyone screamed – some people ducked, and some people ran away. No one tried to stop him.

He looked at me hard as I stared back, trying not to look at the gun.

_Edward definitely won't eat his peas tonight_, was all I could think.

The boy studied my face and turned abruptly, firing off shots. People around me screamed, and some girls were crying, but I just watched silently as he emptied his magazine into a nearby lamppost. He shot in a perfectly straight line down the pole, letting me know he was an excellent marksman and could have peppered the sidewalk with my brains if he wanted to.

When the pop-pop-pop quieted, he threw the gun at my feet. I looked at him and said thank you.

He turned and left.

No one but me knew what his face looked like. The police had his fingerprints, but didn't have anything to compare against; they got plenty of eyewitness reports later, but they couldn't quite get a hold of me. No one present had known my name, and the only description they had of me was "short, with dark hair."

_MYSTERY GUNMAN FIRES AT MYSTERY GIRL_, the newspapers blared the next day.

Right after the boy had left, I'd turned and run to the bus stop. I got on, scanned my pass, and sat down silently. No one had questioned me, and I walked home that day without any of the witnesses knowing my name.

After tucking Edward in that night, I'd gone into Em's room and sat on his bed. The place was rank, he had inappropriate posters on the walls, and an 80's style stereo was perpetually blasting rock music – usually, I stayed out of his territory at all possible costs. That night, I sat on his unmade bed, grabbed his hand in a death grip, and relived the experience to him. He patted my head as I cried about how scared I'd been. He poured the whiskey and held the bottle when I puked myself into oblivion.

"I'll pound that fucker's face in," he swore, but I stopped him.

"He let me live," I said breathlessly, wiping my mouth, "and let you and Edward and Tanya live too."

We looked at each other – me quickly, him slowly.

He froze and looked at me and sighed. He bowed his dark head and acknowledged that none of them could live without me, without saying a single word.

I practically choked on the metaphorical foot I had shoved in my mouth. "I'm sorry, that was presumptuous."

"It was right."

We sat in his room, just quiet like that, for a long time.

* * *

I turned eighteen on the thirtieth of March. I was young for my grade.

Tanya had gone out the night before and still wasn't back. Emmett was out with his friends.

Edward gave me a piece of sheet music.

I held it in my hand and stared at it. I couldn't make sense of the strange dots and lines, but it looked graceful and flowing and _pretty_… and that was when I knew it couldn't be for me.

Me, gritty and too real and boring. Music of all types was wasted on me. This perfect piece of… whatever it was, it could not be for me.

I smiled at Edward and let him think my tears were of joy. I hugged him and told him it was beautiful.

After he was in bed, I pushed open my window and ran to the ratty corner music store.

I sat for a long time in a faded red chair that smelled of smoke, staring at the sheet and not seeing it. The neon light blinked "open" on and off every five seconds at the window near my chair, and I studied the paper in between the flickers.

I heard someone open the back door and come out. I heard a harsh breath, and then someone tapped my head.

It was the blond boy from school.

I tried not to look scared. "Hi."

He looked livid. I wiped my eyes with my hands and wiped my hands on my jeans. I hadn't realized I was crying over that little piece of music until now.

"Why the fuck are you crying?"

"Um… I… it's… it's my birthday."

His face relaxed a bit but he crossed his arms. He smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Sorry about that."

My breath left me in a whoosh and I suddenly, inexplicably, felt safe in his presence. It was insane. He'd pointed a gun at me and shot it two feet from me – and now, sitting at his mercy, I felt safer than I had in weeks.

"It's okay. Just, you know, thinking and shit…" I stood up and faced him, walking until our toes touched.

"What are you doing?"

"I want a hug."

"The hell…"

"Please. It's my birthday." I looked up at him through my eyelashes. I didn't want him to say no.

"Jesus," he breathed, and his warm arms encased me for a few moments. I put my head on his shoulder and tried not to let the tears leak out onto his leather jacket.

"Thank you," I said, and clenched the music tighter in my hand. I opened the door and left.

Halfway down the street, I heard the door open behind me and I turned around. The boy was jogging to catch up with me.

"What are you doing?" I asked, taking his words from before.

"Walking you home. It's fucking four in the morning."

"Oh. Wow. Thank you."

"Stop thanking me."

"Okay."

We walked together in silence and I crawled back in through my window. I didn't care that he was still standing there; I wanted him to know where my room was. I wanted to bask in the safety that this strange man exuded.

He saluted me and about-faced, walking briskly back toward the store. I resisted the urge to watch his retreating back and moved into the kitchen to start breakfast.

When Edward came down, hair in disarray and smelling of sleep, I pushed the hot food in front of him and gave him a smile. He looked slightly surprised and beamed back around a mouthful of eggs.

The sun beamed too, but in the sky, and as I rinsed the skillet I saw the boy's face in the clouds.

It was the best birthday I'd had in a long time.

* * *

The next day was a Friday.

I hated Fridays now. I hated that my favorite day had turned into the worst day of my life.

I was standing at the cash register in the restaurant where I worked as the… I don't know, the greeter person who tells people where to sit or where to wait. It was a shit job, I probably got paid the least as far as management goes, but it was a nice French restaurant and I liked it there.

I'd just dropped a roll of dimes and had bent to pick it up. As I straightened, my eyes fleetingly passed over the next customer.

Daddy.

I dropped the coins again, and he looked just as shocked when he saw me. I vaguely registered a nicely dressed… well, hooker, I guess, draped over his arm.

I stepped around the podium and took off my high-heeled shoe, and that's all I remember.

The next thing I knew, I was standing over his bruised and bloody face, and I looked at the shoe in my hand, and that had blood on it too. The hooker was gone - she'd probably fled the restaurant. I touched my nose; it was swollen and throbbing and kind of numb. There were tear tracks on my cheeks and what felt like blood was crusting on top of my upper lip.

"Wh-what…" I was shaking and couldn't speak. There was motion all around me, but all I could hear was white noise. Everyone was looking at me in horror, and one of the waiters – a big American Indian guy I'd only seen a handful of times – was moving towards me through the throng.

I felt an arm wrap securely around me, and smelled sweat and grass and boy skin. I looked down at the arm around my waist and saw it was covered in brown leather, and just like that I knew it was the boy from before. I saw a gun, with his hand wrapped around it, come up beside me.

"Stay back, or someone gets hurt." His voice was the only thing I could hear, the hot whisper of his breath on my neck the only thing I could feel. Everyone scrambled out of the way, and he dragged me backwards out of the restaurant.

We ran into the street, where a police car was swerving towards us rapidly. I screamed, but he just fired off two shots into its tires and pulled me onto a shiny black motorbike, plunking a helmet on my head, and sped off.

I didn't know where he was taking me, but he seemed to know where he was going, and somehow I trusted him, so we just sat in silence.

I suddenly felt self-conscious about the mess on my face and tried to inconspicuously pick off some of the nasty flaky gunk. Gross. It was even worse than I first thought, some caked-up mixture of snot and blood and tears.

He flinched when I moved and pulled into a gulley, braking so fast that the bike was parked before I could gasp in surprise. He got off and pulled at his hair, seething. I pulled off the helmet and stared at him, watching in apprehensive fascination as his temper seemed to rise.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" he exploded, clenching his hands into fists. I shrank back against the leather seat.

"I - I, I…"

"He's a fucking _pimp_, Alice! He could have screwed you over with both fists behind his back-"

"A _pimp_? You think he's a pimp? God." I started crying.

"Shit. Christ. Don't cry." He looked so lost that I immediately stopped and wiped my eyes on the heels of my hands. When I looked up he was observing me with a kind of pained smile. I looked away.

"Why do you think he's a pimp?"

"I just… I don't know. It's easy to tell, the way he walks… the way he dresses…"

"God." I felt like I'd been slapped, and we lapsed into another awkward silence, and I hated it. I had to break it. "That's my father."

"_Fuck_. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I said, and suddenly it was, because he was here. "He already left us, anyway."

"That's just… messed up," he said, but he was smiling, sort of, and so I smiled too.

I felt connected to him, in a way I didn't know, but it felt right and strong and a little bit scary. He had complete and utter control over me.

"You need to get home."

I agreed.

He drove me all the way back to my house, but stopped at a convenience store to pick up some antibacterial wipes for my face. When I asked him if I had broken my nose, he got all stiff and hissed out that it was probably just bruised. He told me to ice it when I got home.

We were quiet when we pulled onto the driveway, and he got off the motorcycle. I thanked him and went to take off my helmet, but his hand flashed out and stopped mine. Instead, he just lifted up the visor so he could see my face. I looked up and saw his face was only inches from mine. I held my breath.

"Be careful, Alice."

"I will."

He let go and I took the helmet off, but I just sat there, watching him. He fidgeted a bit.

"What?"

"How do you know my name?"

"I looked it up after that… day."

"Why?"

"I wanted to know who you were."

"I see."

I swung my leg over the back wheel and dismounted, satisfied with his answer. He was looking at me with a strange expression.

"What's your name?" I asked. I needed to know.

He started the motorbike and pulled out, and I was afraid that I'd offended him or pushed too far with my questions. He idled on the street, and pulled the helmet on, leaving the visor up so I could hear him when he turned to face me.

"Jasper," he said, and the tires squealed as he drove away.

_Jasper._

_Jasper._

His name replayed itself in my head for the rest of the day.

* * *

a/n: i needed to justify the sucky prologue. hopefully this one's better.

again, congratulations on making it all the way till here. you're a trooper.

twifan93, you're still alone. but also still cool. i hope this meets your expectations... this is more creative pressure than i've felt in a while. i'm pretty nervous.

-stephanie


	3. goodbye

i own nothing.

* * *

I saw him everywhere after that. He seemed to just know where I was, all the time.

It would have been creepy, but I needed him just as much.

Edward noted that I looked less stressed all the time now, and I bit back a hysterical giggle.

One day, I fell down the steps at school. I hadn't gotten sleep the night before, and everything suddenly tilted to the right when I got to the staircase, and I missed the top step and went tumbling down the entire flight of stairs. Jasper appeared, helped me sidesaddle his bike, and took me to the hospital. When we left, with me in a huge-ass cast, he stopped by his old middle school and got out.

I looked around nervously. I was sure this constituted as trespassing, and told him so.

He laughed, called me a pansy, and lifted me off of the motorcycle.

He carried me in his arms, carefully avoiding the cast on my leg, pointedly ignoring my protests and exclamations that my crutches were two fucking feet away, attached to the side of the bike, and that the cast probably added twenty pounds and that I was too heavy for him. I bitched all the way to the swing set, where he set me down in the woodchips.

"Alice," he said in his serious way.

"Yes?" I was still a little huffy.

"I should really hate you."

"I'm not asking you to like me, Jasper." I looked at my feet, unable to stomp off like I wanted to because of my stupid cast. He placed his big, warm hands on my hips, and we both looked down in surprise. He fit surprisingly well.

"I know."

"So don't fucking complain about liking me. Shit pisses me off."

An amused smile twisted the corner of his mouth up and he gripped my hips a little tighter and lifted me onto a swing. I giggled and squirmed a little; his hands tickled.

"You've got a mouth on you, don't you?"

"Can't really help it."

"Oh?" His hands were tracing warm patterns on mine. He stood between my legs and studied my fingers, which looked much smaller than they really were when he held them in his gigantic palms.

"You try growing up with a pimp for a dad, a hooker for a sister, and a junkie for a brother. Trust me, you won't escape unscathed."

His brilliant blue eyes met mine and narrowed. Something I'd learned about Jasper was that he was laid-back and easygoing most of the time, but when he got angry, he did it with a vengeance.

He certainly was angry now.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, breathing deeply. I tried to make myself invisible. When he opened his eyes, his gaze was so intense I felt like he was x-raying me.

"That's seriously fucked up."

"It's not too bad."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it isn't. It's just… well, life... You know. Like, if something bad happens, so what? Tough shit. Keeps on going."

"Jesus." He stared at me in awe, and played with the ends of my hair the way he knew I liked.

It was almost scary how well we knew each other after only a few days.

"What about you? What's your family like?"

His hands stopped and he gave me a warning look. "A hell of a lot better than yours."

I lowered my head and looked at him through my eyelashes, biting my lip. I heard his breath hitch.

"Like how?" I angled my head to the right a bit.

"Alice. Don't look at me like that."

"What's your family like, Jasper?"

I thought for sure he'd get angry, but he just gave a low laugh and shook his head. "You're going to get your little self in trouble one of these days."

I gave him a heavy stare and he shrugged, turning away. "I have a mom and a dad. Oh, and a twin sister."

"What's your last name?"

He avoided my gaze and kicked around the woodchips a bit. The sweet, heady smell of the processed wood was giving me a headache.

"Hale."

"Oh."

I was quiet for a while before it clicked. "Hold on. Hale?" My heart pounded in my ears. "As in the Chicago Hales? _The_ Chicago Hales?"

"Jesus. Don't say it like that."

My breath came short and fast. I tried to push myself away from him. He let me, looking a bit confused.

"Alice, what the fuck?"

"You… you're Jasper! Jasper Hale! The badass biker son who is perpetually stoned and beds every girl within a five mile radius!"

He smirked, and the wind played with his hair in a way that made my heart beat faster. "Is that what the kids are saying nowadays?"

"I don't want anything to do with you. Go away."

"Sorry, princess, no can do."

"You- you pointed a gun at me! You were going to shoot me! I don't want you here, I don't want to be your goddamn damsel in distress!"

I'd finally done it. I'd broached he topic that we'd skirted around for the majority of our time together, and his eyebrows drew together.

"A little too late for that, isn't it?" His voice was heavy with irony.

"No, it is not."

"Aren't you being a little fucking paranoid? I haven't shot you yet," he said sarcastically, "and you haven't even seen a single paparazzo."

I sneered at him.

He sneered back.

"Look, if I could walk worth a damn I would get up and beat your sorry ass five times over. Take me home."

"No." He sat on the prickly chips and grasped his hair in his hands, mumbling, "Why her?"

I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream at him and scratch him and pull out every single one of his luscious golden locks. How had I missed it?

"Just… please. I want to go home."

He looked at me and sighed, rubbing his face. He looked weary, like he carried the responsibility of every fucking life on the planet, but still was beautiful. I wanted to kick him.

"No, Alice."

"Take me home." A single tear spilled from my right eye and I pushed it away. I raised my voice a little. "Take me home!"

"Fuck."

I was becoming hysterical. "Fine! Sell me out to your media friends! Tell them how you were the first person to act decent towards a poor little street rat and how it was so easy to manipulate her! Give them my name! My address! My goddamn social security number! Give them anything you want, JUST FUCKING TAKE ME HOME!"

Faster than I could register, he stood up and yanked my arm so that I flew off the swing and into his arms. I tried to hit him.

"Let me go, you sick bastard!"

"Shut up."

"The fuck I will, I-" He stepped back and gripped my shoulders a little too tightly, shaking me a bit, crouching so he was at eye level with me and staring into my eyes. I went silent. He ran a hand through his hair, looking like he was fighting himself, and grasped me into his arms again. I tried to bite him.

"Hey." He stepped back and released me, looking lost. He opened his mouth, and closed it, like he'd forgotten how to speak. I scoffed at him.

"Just spit it out, bitch."

The Jasper from an hour ago would have had a long, hearty chuckle at that – my barely hundred pound ass calling his six foot frame "bitch" – but this nervous, confused Jasper looked terrified. He pulled me back into his arms and pushed his face into my shoulder so I couldn't see it. His words came rushing out in one breath.

"I love you, Alice." I froze. _Please, let this not be happening._ "Okay? God. I fucking love you and I won't take you home because I know all you get is shit there and you deserve better, better than I can give you and sure as hell better than anything your family can give you but you're too good for anyone on earth and God, I am trying like fuck to make myself worth your time, and nothing I do is coming out right!"

I was shocked and stepped back, forgetting about my shit foot, and yelped in pain. He moved forward and gently scooped me up, setting me on the swing and kneeling between my legs.

"God, it killed me when I saw you fall today," he breathed, grasping me tightly around my waist. I watched the sunlight move through his hair, fascinated and horrified by what he was saying. "I swear, my fucking heart stopped and I couldn't reach you fast enough. No more, though, I promise. I will always be here for you." He looked up, and his eyes were so sweet that I wanted to cry.

"When?" I croaked out. "When did you…"

He laughed and put his head on my stomach. "That first day, when I aimed my gun at you. I saw your eyes and thought, this is the girl I love."

I felt sick. Memories, bits and pieces, were flashing through my head. _Mama in an apron, laughing and dusting flour off my nose… "I love you, sweetie"… Daddy helping me solve a puzzle… Edward with his green eyes wide open, shaking on the floor in one of his fits… "Sorry for scaring you. I love you, Ali"… Tanya pulling my hair through a straightener… Emmett giving me my first smoke… "God, I love you, little sis"… Me on the floor next to the liquor cabinet... Me alone in my room… Me listening late at night as Tanya fucked for money… "I love you, I love you, fuck, baby…"_

I pushed him away, nauseous.

"I'm sorry," I cried, and his face went blank.

He took me home, helped me out of the car, and drove off.

I didn't see him again for two long years.

* * *

a/n: still beta searching...

poor jasper.

thanks for the review, deltagirl74. i promise to answer your question, if you stick with this a little longer.

-stephanie


	4. hello, again

DISCLAIMER: not mine.

* * *

During that time, I lived aimlessly. I knew I worried everyone – I was so faint and far away, in fact, Emmett took over raising Edward. I still was the closest to him, but I wasn't much use for anything other than going to the corner store for my whiskey.

Tanya left the house when I turned 19, seeking her fortune on the streets or in the strip clubs of New York City (she hadn't really clear in the note she'd left us, a short sentence written in lip liner on a napkin). Emmett had openly moved from cigarettes to other drugs, strange pills and powders and needles that I was fascinated by but never used. I had enough shit to deal with in my life, thank you.

One night, after a particularly harrowing dream, I went down to the kitchen for some water and saw Emmett sitting at our beat-up foldable kitchen table with a glorious blonde who had curves like an Amazonian and exactly the same shade of hair that _he'd_ had. They weren't talking, or even touching; just sitting in the easy companionship that comes with old acquaintance.

My heart rose in my throat, and I thought of the blond that I used to sit with, and the pressure in my head made me want to scream.

I went back upstairs to sit on my bed, still the bunk that I'd shared with Edward since he turned four, and watched the moon move across the night sky. I twisted my hands for a while before huffing and pulling on a jacket and grabbing my purse. I snuck out my window and caught the 2:17 bus downtown, where the library was – where I always went to clear my head.

It was no ordinary library; honestly, even the name "library" was a stretch for where I was going. It was just a room filled with books, situated underneath a cheap bikini bar. I'd never gotten a library card, even though there was a beautiful marble building just a dozen blocks away that was an official public library; I had simply never seen the use. As I dismounted the vehicle and made my way to the flashing neon lights, I probably had never wanted one less. This was more me.

I got inside and waved to Angela, the bartender, a tall, willowy mystery. We had ignored each other for the first half a year that I started coming over, but, one night, after I'd finished up in the bookroom, a drunkard sitting at the bar tried to pull me onto his lap. I was underage then, and I didn't know what to do, and I just gave a high pitched, terrified squeak. Angela appeared in front of him out of nowhere, and pushed me gently aside. She decked him, gave me a small smile, and hauled his bewildered ass out the door.

"It's time for you go home," she told me when she came back in, politely not mentioning how my jaw was on the floor. I shut my mouth.

"I'm Alice," was all I could reply.

"Angela. Run along, sweet girl," she said, and I did, but not before giving her a huge hug. She stiffened, and it was awkward because I came maybe up to her elbow then, but she relaxed and even patted my head a bit before sending me on my way. We were fast friends after that.

She was mixed as mixed could get as far as ethnicities go, and seemed plain at first, but she was beautiful if you caught her in real light. The red, smoky haze of a bar didn't do her delicate features much use at all. I'd offered her my job at the French restaurant those many, many years ago, but she just smiled and stroked my cheek sadly.

"Dear Alice," she had said, and ran a hand through my then-long hair. I understood; this job was in her blood.

So I came over more frequently, and spent every other visit behind the bar with Angela, chattering away cheerfully and giving her mini makeovers when there were lulls in business. She would sit on a stool, and I'd perch on the counter, and the differences in our heights would be made up. I would pull my fingers through her luscious dark hair, curling the tips around my pinkies, and highlight all the angles of her sharp face with my kit. She always smiled when I finished, flattered when I showed her a mirror.

"You're magic, sweet," she'd say, every time. And every time, I'd giggle and exaggeratedly stroke her face and respond, no, this is the real magic. She'd roll her eyes and say I never took anything seriously.

Today, though, I was on a mission, and only paused to give her a quick peck on the cheek before heading into the basement. She looked at me unsmilingly, because I'd been, well, quite broken since _he_ had left. I didn't go into details with Angela, and she had never pressed, but she did not like it when I was unhappy and was impatiently waiting for an explanation.

I was waiting for the time to be right, and someday, it would. It would just take a while.

I ran down the steps, pushed open the door, and breathed in the dusty smell of the old books happily. I found my favorite chair – really just a pile of pillows in a corner – and pulled out the first book on the shelf to my right as I plopped down. It was an ancient edition of _A Streetcar Named Desire_, I realized after settling into the cushions, and it felt right to read an emotional drama after my harrowing dream.

It was almost light outside when I finished, maybe two (three?) hours later. I stretched, returned the book, and tripped upstairs, feeling lazy and droopy in the lovely way you feel after reading a good book. I was ready to go to sleep back home. I paused at the top of the stairs to briefly survey the strange group of people in business suits occupying the table nearest to the staircase; this bar usually warranted the street or slum variety. Angela was busy with orders, so I didn't bother her; I just walked toward the door.

And, as I passed that table, I heard it: the deep baritone that had haunted me for the past five years.

Every nerve in my body woke up, and suddenly, I wasn't feeling tired or droopy at all.

A name I had forbidden to my thoughts crept in without invitation, and I shuddered delicately.

_Jasper._

"…well?" he was finishing, the intonation of his voice implying a hint of annoyance. I closed my eyes.

"Come on, baby, just one more hour," I heard a woman's voice croon lowly, and my eyes snapped open again. I whirled around and located his blond head – and the well-dressed businesswoman currently stroking his arm.

_Fuckitdamnshithellbitch!_

My breath stopped in my chest, and I couldn't believe that I hadn't even considered this possibility throughout all these years. He had a reputation, I reminded myself dazedly, and was a low down bastard. I couldn't tear my eyes away, though, even as a wave of pain washed over me.

This man had been mine for a few short months, and I had been his. And now he belonged to her. I scanned her up and down, my heart sinking. She was gorgeous, exotic, and had legs up to her chin. _The exact opposite of me,_ I thought, looking down at my ripped, low slung jeans and artfully self-cut shirt and suddenly feeling quite inadequate.

He sighed and shook a hand through his hair rapidly. "Jesus, Marìa," –_so that was Longlegs' name, _I said to myself scornfully, _and he even pronounces it with that little fucking accent-_ "what are you going to even do with this dump, anyways?"

"Make it into a getaway for just the two of us, baby," she purred, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Even from my spot several feet away I could tell he was pleased by this, and he turned to kiss her.

My knees gave out, and, like the first time, Angela suddenly appeared from thin air to hold me up. She half-walked, half-dragged me to her place behind the bar, and set me on the counter.

"Alice?" she asked softly. Her tone inquired if I was all right, but her eyes told me she finally understood the reason for my melancholy. We looked together in unison to the gorgeous blond man.

"God, Ange," I groaned, and held my head in my hands. I looked up at her, glad for the sudden lull in business. I took a shaky breath and exhaled.

"He was everything," I explained mournfully, "and I made him nothing."

"Oh, Al," she sighed. "What are we going to do with you?"

I hopped down and shook my head, wiped the errant tears from under my eyelashes. "I've got to run."

"I know, dear heart."

I reached instinctively for my bag and squealed, clapping my hands over my mouth. "Oh, no! I left my purse downstairs!"

"So go get it," she offered blithely, pouring a drink for a dancer who had just finished her shift and was now settling down at the bar.

I looked pointedly at the table where the Happy Fucking Couple sat. It was right near the door, and I thanked God that they hadn't been looking when I'd come up, because they were facing the stairwell.

She placed the drink, scotch-three-fingers-no-ice, in front of the lady and leaned over to select the correct bill from under the dancer's sparkly thong strap. The dancer tipped her glass toward Angela and sipped at it, leaving to get a better look at the stage.

"Turn your head the other way when you walk by, and he won't know it's you," Angela advised, turning her back to me to put the bill in the register – her way of telling me to suck it up, doll, and just do your thing.

I stuck my tongue out at her back, and her shoulders moved in a way that let me know that she chuckled, and then I moved towards the stairs, heart pounding.

I took Angela's advice and kept my face turned away, striding in fast steps down the stairs and into the bookroom. I found my bag in my corner, and was relieved to discover that nothing was missing from it.

Taking a deep breath, I journeyed back up the staircase, facing the side of the room that was Not Jasper with extra caution. There was no way in hell that I could face him after being emotionally bitch-slapped tonight.

Of course, I didn't factor in the column that stood right in my path. The big concrete one that I couldn't see because my head was turned too far over.

I walked straight into it, and the speed I was walking at plus the unforgiving cement block plus how I turned my head at the last second made my nose crash into it with a resounding smack.

"Shit!" I cried, and covered both hands over the appendage, stumbling backward and falling on my ass. All thoughts of the Happy Fucking Couple left my mind as white-hot pain seared across my face, blinding me.

"Fucking _ow,_" I hissed out, trying to stagger to my feet. My hands felt wet, and the aftermath of the pain left a stinging sensation that was almost twice as bad.

Someone tall and thin flashed to my side, and I could barely make out long dark hair – Angela. She observed me for a quick second, then reached out and gave my nose a firm pinch. She nodded and handed me a clean-looking handkerchief.

Pain lanced through me, and I let out a muffled squeak, but my eyesight had filtered back in and I glared at her, pressing the cloth to my face.

"If you're fucking messing with me, Ange…"

"Just checking, Alice, you should be fine. Wait for a few minutes, and hold the cloth to your nose." She looked preoccupied, though, and from the corner of my eye I saw Jasper standing and moving toward us and Marìa pulling at his arm, trying to get him to stay with her. I shuddered as my heart contracted painfully, and Angela quickly said, "Let's get you cleaned up" and whisked me away before I could completely melt down. I noticed she grabbed my purse – _you little fucker, you_ _got me in this mess!_ – and felt grateful.

We were in the employee's bathroom in half a minute, and she spent the next hour meticulously wiping up my bloody face and my tears, staying silent the whole while. I didn't need words, and neither did she, and our quiet was only permeated by my constant sniffling and her occasional questions about trouble with breathing and bruised eyes. When neither became apparent, she was quiet again.

Finally, I smiled and gave a final sniff, squeezing her hand. "I'm good, Ange. Thank you."

"Watch yourself, sweet girl," she said lowly, almost in a warning tone, and put her hand against my cheek. I held my breath – Angela wasn't usually a very tactile person – and then she pulled away and gave me a little half smile, then left.

I breathed out a long breath and washed my hands. I gingerly felt my nose; yup, that was going to bruise, and there was a scrape running across my nose that was going to leave an awful scar. Tonight was turning out to be swell.

I had just reached for my bag, praying to God that the Happy Fucking Couple had left already as I prepared myself to leave, when the door banged open loudly and swung violently shut in the next second. I jumped, and my eyes leapt to the mirror.

And there he was.

Jasper fucking Hale.

I sucked in a breath and tried not to appear nervous. "This bathroom is employees only," I said in my best attempt at monotone politeness, turning around. "Not to mention, it's for women."

The fire in his eyes burned me, shocked me, and I was silent, just… trying to breathe. I looked at my feet and tried not to cry as my past drifted into the present.

"Alice," he tried to start, and I felt my tattered ego rise, bringing my temper along with it.

Now_ you arrive. Where were you all night, pride?_

"_Don't_," I hissed, walking up to him and poking his chest with my finger, "fucking call me that. You've no right."

"But-"

"Save it," I sneered, feeling like a witch, "for someone who cares."

"_You_ rejected _me_," he squeezed in bravely. My eyes turned to ice on him.

"Marìa," I spat out, doing a horrible rendition of a Spanish accent and sounding like an idiot. He groaned and closed his eyes, looking pained, and I wished him all the pain of a slow castration.

I reached behind me for my bag and had moved past him to the door when a long arm flashed out and turned the lock. I stared at it, then at him.

"I'm on the same side of the door as you," I pointed out.

He cracked a grin – my grin – and I melted. All I could see was him; that smile; everything else – the world, my nose, even Marìa (though I filed that away to confront him about later) – disappeared completely as I saw him, really saw him, for the first time in all our time together.

"Jasper," I breathed, his name a prayer on my lips, and he rushed into my arms with such force that I found myself flying backwards into the sink, which he hoisted me up onto. He burrowed his face into my neck, and I shivered.

"Alice," he whispered with such fervor that tears sprang to my eyes.

I tugged on a piece of his golden hair, and he looked up at me.

I smiled and pressed a kiss to his nose softly. His eyes turned round and he looked like he could barely hope-

I hugged him close and whispered in his ear, "You've kept me waiting a long time."

* * *

a/n: aw, they're cute.

special thanks to deltagirl74 and mrsjwwhitlock! you two are fine people.

still beta searching! if you're available, or can recommend someone, i'd greatly appreciate it.

all will be revealed in due time. these crazy kids have more to them than meets the eye...

-stephanie


	5. explanations, part 1

DISCLAIMER: not mine, any of it. Except the plot.

See you at the bottom...

* * *

A shudder so violent it was almost a spasm shook through Jasper, and he wrenched himself from my grip, leaning back and finding my eyes and staring into me searchingly.

"No shit, okay, Alice?" He said cautiously.

"Jasper, I am not shitting you," I said patiently, primly fixing my shirt from where it had ridden up in our embrace. He watched me, slack jawed, and carefully kissed my forehead.

"God, you just move on so quickly, don't you?" He said in wonder, touching my cheek.

"Yes."

"But not for me."

"No."

"And why is that?"

"It was the jacket," I tried to joke, but his eyes turned stormy.

"Ah, so it's the bad boys that you like," he said seriously, moving back. I could feel the terror wash over me as he backed away – _what if he never came back_ – and I grew pale and my eyes got all wide and I didn't, couldn't, even try to hide from him. He flew to me before I could gasp, and my hands were reaching out, aching to hold him, before he even moved.

"You were my future, I knew it," I cried, gripping the front of his jacket in tight curled fingers, "I knew it and it scared me, all I knew was of Tanya and Daddy -"

"Shh, Alice," he hushed, running a hand through my broken hair. Vaguely I remembered that he'd never seen one of my episodes - they'd been a regular feature since he'd left. He hated it when I cried, but tough – I was highly emotional and he'd have to learn to deal with it. "Shh."

"It was all I knew, God, help me," I gasped, clutching at him and clawing at his jacket, trying to burrow myself into him, so deep that I couldn't come out. I felt cold to the bone. "Jasper, Jasper!"

"Alice, it's all right, I'm here."

"Jasper," I sobbed.

"You're scaring me, love," he said soothingly, even though the words were frightened, and pulled me tighter against his chest.

I shook against him, and I think I would have fallen apart if his arms weren't holding me together. He was smoothing down my hair, as he had during my entire episode, when I finished. I took deep, tremulous breaths, and wondered how to keep him from thinking I was a psycho. I hiccupped and swatted his hand away, and attempted humor. "God, I hate my hair. Did you know I cut it right after you left, so I wouldn't have a meltdown every time it was tugged?"

"Don't even try to deflect," he warned without missing a beat, and replied, "It works on you. Did you know that my bike has been in public storage since I left because I can't see it without imagining you on it?"

I hiccupped and stared at him in surprise. "Really?"

"Yup."

"No shit?"

"Alice, I am not shitting you," he said seriously, but with a twinkle in his eye, stealing my words from before. He touched my pinky with his, lightly, and I felt the bond – not a shock, but a familiar tingle, like we'd known each other all our lives.

"I can't imagine you without your bike." I screwed my eyes up tight, then gave up. A bike-less Jasper was simply unfathomable. "How did you take Marìa around, then?"

"Alice."

"What?"

"Now? Seriously?"

"I think so."

"Darl-" he rubbed my shoulder as he let his accent slip and I remembered that the Hales were originally from the south- "It's fucking five in the morning, and you need to be getting your little self into bed, you hear?"

I felt my eyes literally glaze over. That accent. Christ. He laughed softly and kissed my hand courteously before tossing me over his shoulder and grabbing my purse, laughing at my surprised squeak and slapping my ass as we left the restroom.

* * *

We spent the next day together, he and I, cut off from the world. He pulled me onto a bus that first night, apparently forgetting his statement about me needing sleep, and we rode together to Philly, spending the hours holding each other and whispering. The driver looked back at us, annoyed; we were the only passengers and I was sitting on Jasper's lap, right in front of the sign that read, "ONE PERSON PER SEAT." I started at his look guiltily and moved to stand, but Jasper gripped my hip in an iron vice and sent a look so black to the bus driver that I felt surprised the flesh didn't melt off his face. He turned back around and drove on through the night.

We arrived in the early morning, and Jasper pulled me out of the bus onto a sidewalk. I shivered in the snappy air, wearing only my jeans and t-shirt and the bangles that hung from my goose bumped arm. Jasper bumped my hand with his and dropped his old jacket around me, and the look in his eyes as he saw me in his clothes sent a wave of heat unfurling through my body that had nothing to do with being warm again, and everything to do with the heady scent of boy musk I was suddenly draped in.

We stopped in front a fancy hotel. I linked my pinky with his, giddy, not noticing that we were going in until we arrived at the reception and the uniformed lady gawked inappropriately at Jasper. I wrapped my arm around him possessively – _mine –_ and smiled nastily at the receptionist. Jasper chuckled and kissed the top of my head, murmuring, "Easy, sweet girl."

He then proceeded to whip out approximately five hundred dollars in cash and hand it over, asking for the presidential suite. The girl's eyes glazed over watching his arm flex as he paid and she looked at him with such flat out lust that I dug my nails into Jasper's arm.

I_ am the one wearing your jacket,_ I reminded him silently,_ I am yours and you are mine._

He grimaced at the strength of my grip and attempted a polite smile in the girl's direction, then grabbed the key card and led me to the elevators. Once inside, he lifted me against the wall and pinned me there with his body, hard lines on soft curves. I shivered, feeling delicate and feminine and wanted, and his lips ghosted my ear.

"I am yours and you are mine," he whispered hotly through soft kisses, and my head fell back, heavy from the sensation. He cushioned it against the wall with his hand, cradling it in his palm. "Alice, I love you."

I opened my eyes and wrapped my arms around his neck, trapping his hips with my legs. We exited the elevator this way, with me draped around him like tinsel on a staircase, and ignored the numerous strange looks aimed at us as we walked down to our door.

But we didn't sleep together that night - in fact, the elevator scene was probably the most sexually tense we would get for the next month. Instead, we stayed up talking until I collapsed from exhaustion at about three in the afternoon. I learned that Jasper had met _her_ at a family gala, and that she was so bitchy and unsentimental that he had taken a shine to her immediately. I'd stared at him, befuddled. He then kissed my hair and explained that she had been nothing like me, and he'd needed that, then.

I learned that he'd shacked up with her multiple times. He was reluctant to tell me, but I insisted on it. This actually made me feel better. Somehow, along the way I'd come to equate sex with trashiness - probably Tanya's influence - and that made Marìa a whore in my eyes, which was fine with me.

I learned that he kept his gun - which he told me had been one of General Lee's - with him at all the time. I told him that it disturbed me, those first times we'd met; he seemed unstable, violent, pulling his gun out at his every whim. He was quiet for a while, and I was afraid I'd made him angry. Then he rubbed my hip with his fingers and explained that, from where he came from, a gun was the fastest way to get things done, and that whipping one out to get a faster reaction had become a habit that was hard to break. I burned to ask what he meant by _where he came from_, knowing only that it was in the South; but it was a mutual understanding that that would be a conversation for a later time.

We laughed together when he remarked offhandedly that my nose had gotten us together for the second time, and suddenly I realized how comical tonight had been. I asked him what had gotten him so mad at the restaurant, that third time we'd seen each other, and he just leaned his head back and sighed a little, like he was a hundred years old. I sat quietly, understanding that this was still a raw nerve, and held his hand. This was when I fell asleep.

When I woke up, I panicked; _Edward_. Jasper pulled me into a taxi, panicking at my panic, and ordered the driver to take us all the way back to New York. I protested; the ride would surely cost more than our stay at the hotel. The driver protested, too. Jasper threw two thousand dollars on the front seat, and the driver's eyes got wide - as did mine - and she quickly put the key in the ignition. Jasper hugged my shoulder with one hand and asked if this made things better, with the barest hint of fear in his eyes.

This is how I learned that I was one of the only things in the world that could scare him.

I took him home with me, and ran into the house, calling for Edward. He was standing in the bathroom, holding his toothbrush and an empty tube of toothpaste and looking lost, with Emmett shaving at the sink next to him. Both turned to me in surprise, and I knew that my changed attitude was already noticed.

Edward put down the toothbrush and walked over to me. He was eight now, but his head reached my collarbone since I was so short. He hugged me and whispered that he was glad the sparkle was back.

I heard footsteps behind me and Emmett put down the razor and wiped the shaving cream from his face, menace prickling from every pore of his body as he stared at the man who stood behind me. I went quickly to stand by Jasper.

"Em," I said cautiously, "this is Jasper Hale."

"I know."

I was flabbergasted. "You do?"

He ignored me. "What is he doing here?" He addressed me while maintaining eye contact with Jasper.

"He, uh, I…" My mind was frozen. I had not expected Emmett to know who Jasper was.

"Emmett, I've changed," Jasper said lowly. I turned to look at him, by now beyond words. What was going on?

"Like shi-" Automatically I went to cover Edward's ears, and Emmett flinched slightly. "Yeah, right, you have. Rose has been telling me about how you've been."

Rose?

"Emmett, you don't understand," Jasper began, but Emmett cut him off.

"I think I understand pretty well, Hale." His voice was dangerous. "How's Candice, by the way? Amber? Jessica? Lauren? Marìa? Or did you not bother to learn their names before you messed with them?"

Jasper winced with each name. Through my stupor, I was impressed with Emmett for keeping things G-rated, but I couldn't bring myself to look at the blond man beside me. My head spun. What had he done while we were apart?

Edward's eyes were growing wider and wider, and I knew it was just a matter of time before he succumbed to a panic attack. I stepped between the two men, ignoring the questions pounding in my head, and they dropped their tense stances.

"You two, if you're going to argue, take it somewhere else," I said in the voice I'd gotten from Momma – a deep, authoritative, dare-you-to-defy kind of tone – and they nodded, holding each other's gaze. "Edward, come here, I'll show you where the toothpaste is."

Edward's eyes were still big, but he took my hand and I led him to the hallway, searching through our nearly-bare cupboards until I found an unused tube. There was silence in the bathroom when we returned.

Emmett and Jasper watched as I set the timer while Edward brushed his teeth, and as I poured Edward some mouthwash for him to rinse with afterwards. They followed me to the doorway of Edward's and my room, where I read him a chapter from _The Fountainhead_ – Edward could read the book for himself, but he liked when I read to him – and tucked him in.

Edward didn't close his eyes when I kissed his forehead, grabbing my hand instead. I stared at him in surprise; Edward by definition didn't deviate from our set routine.

"You won't leave again, will you Alice?" he asked softly.

His eyes, so green and so much more beautiful than my own, were wide and anxious. Going through our routine tonight had settled him down a bit, but I knew it would be at least a few days before the fear left him completely.

"No, Edward," I said, looking deep into his eyes. "I won't."

"Okay."

I turned out the light and ushered the two men in the doorway downstairs. I turned on the bare bulb hanging over the kitchen table and sat them down at the counter, then walked around to face them.

"All right, you two." I glared. "You'd better have some damn good explanations."

* * *

a/n: sorry for the long wait, you guys. I got into something of a funk, what with classes starting and whatnot. Hope you can forgive.

Thanks for keeping up with this! Your support means everything.

Still searching for a beta, if you know anyone good.

Stay tuned for next time...


	6. explanations, part 2

Disclaimer: not mine.

* * *

Emmett was silent, but Jasper held his hands up in surrender. "Alice, I-"

In a flash Emmett had his hand around Jasper's wrist. "I fucking dare you to call her by her first name again, Hale. Do it. See what happens because I really, really want you to."

Jasper met his gaze evenly. "She chose me, Emmett, not the other way around."

Emmett moved to grab the back of Jasper's neck but I hopped onto the counter, gesturing wildly.

"Boys!" They went silent at my reprimand, Emmett releasing Jasper in a disgusted sort of way and Jasper rubbing the back of his neck. I sighed and kneaded my forehead, trying to pick which of the many questions screaming in my head was most important.

"Emmett, you first. How the hell do you know Jasper?"

Emmett suddenly looked wary. He put his hands on the counter and studied them before answering, "I've been seeing his sister for a while. Rosalie. We were in the same rehabilitation group and I guess we just got to talking. I met Mr. Manwhore here a few times when I went over to her place." He shot Jasper a dirty look. "And each time he was with a different girl, with a bottle in his hand, and Rosalie would try and reason with him but he'd just brush her off." Shaking his head with something akin to pity, he stole a glance at Jasper. "You've seriously got to sort out your shit, bro."

Jasper's head was in his hands, elbows on the counter. I tried to process this information levelly, without completely losing it. It was pretty hard.

"Okay, Jasper." My voice was wintry. "Go ahead."

He rubbed his eyebrow and sighed. "Look, you know what I was like after I left. I did nothing for a long time, but Rose told me I had to go out and socialize before I became a hermit or some shit. She introduced me to Marìa and…" Jasper looked up at me and quickly away. "Well, I've explained this bit to you. She was the first in a long line of girls, I won't lie to you, and out of all of them she was the only one I could stand because she was nothing like you."

Emmett seethed, his powerful shoulders shaking. "You've got some nerve talking to my sister like that, Hale."

"Emmett, stop." The two turned to me in surprise—to be honest, I was pretty surprised at myself as well. But the more I reasoned out loud, the clearer things became. "Look, we've all had a pretty hard day. Emmett, you look exhausted. Go to bed." He opened his mouth to argue, looking livid, but I shook my head. "Do it. Please."

He gave me a hard stare but wilted. He rubbed a weary hand across his brow.

"Fine, Alice." He reached across to where I sat on the counter and grasped me into a tight hug. "Just promise to never fucking leave again. Ed and I had no clue what to do."

I gave him a weak smile; I could feel Jasper's gaze scorching on my skin and I knew something Emmett said had irked him. I prayed he'd keep his silence at least until Emmett left.

"Sure thing, Em."

He exited, but not without some menacing glances aimed Jasper's way. As he disappeared, I slumped, all bravado gone, hands shaking and fisted into my short black hair. Jasper reached over to pull me onto his lap, easy as nothing, wrapping strong arms around my frame.

I laid my head on his shoulder, burrowing my nose into his neck. He was tense.

I closed my eyes and whispered, "I trust you."

Impossibly, the already taut cords in his neck stretched tighter. "I know."

"Jasper…" Reaching up, I opened my eyes and cupped the back of his neck in my palm, splayed the other on his chest. His eyes were dark and far away, the familiar blue clouded with an emotion I couldn't place. "I know you're not the person Emmett knew. I know everything you said was true. And…" I gulped. "And I'm sorry I can't give you the same things they did."

His eyes finally rested on mine, like he just noticed I was there. The cloud cleared into something I could recognize—confusion.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You know…" I picked at his collar, my eyes dropping from his. Suddenly shy, I squeezed my eyes shut and made fists in his shirt. I forced the word out between reluctant lips. "Sex."

Jasper gently pried my fingers away and pressed his hand to my cheek, lifting my face closer to his. I peeked out from under my eyelashes and caught his horrified expression. Tears sprang unbidden to my eyes and I looked away quickly. _Jesus, what was I thinking? Surely a guy like Jasper is used to getting what he wants when he wants it._

"Alice!" His voice broke like a shattered man's and he caught my hand up in one of his, trying to hold it as delicately as he could in his big, rough hands. He brought it to his face and kissed it reverently, penitently, like I was sacred to him. "Alice, please, no. No, baby."

I wiped my tears away with my free hand. He looked appalled.

"Alice, I never meant to pressure you into anything—"

"No, Jasper, don't. You didn't. I just—" This would not be easy. When I spoke again my voice was over-bright. "Look, you're a guy. And I know I've been awful to you, and fuck, I'm sorry, but I don't expect you to just give up any… physical… hungers, or anything. I just, I can't, not—not now. Not after Tanya."

"Jesus, Alice," he said and his voice was stronger, "and all this time I thought you were smarter."

"Excuse me?"

"Baby," he said tenderly, cupping my face in his hands, "when have I ever given any indication that I wanted more from you than you could give? When you weren't ready to feel for me like I did for you, I left so you wouldn't have to. When I took you to a hotel for the night and made out with you in an elevator, I was fine with just talking for the rest of the night because _you_ weren't ready for anything else. What your sister did was fucking reprehensible and you are nothing like her. I don't want you ever thinking that this, _us_, is as cheap as what she did. I don't want what those girls gave me, Alice. I want you."

His eyes were clear and his voice was sure, bouncing back from the dingy walls and tired linoleum.

I believed him.

I smiled and sniffed. He broke into a grin too, and I giggled softly. He looked at me softly, then pressed a kiss to my forehead and scooped me up into his arms.

"You're tired, and it's making you nutty, darl. Let's get some sleep."

* * *

I woke up feeling new and sore, slightly beat but ready for another day. Jasper was spooned behind me, a hand resting easy on my shoulder, and I turned my head and kissed it.

I felt rather than saw him wake, smiling as he stirred and nuzzled my hair. His ribs expanded against my back as he yawned.

Turning over, I stuck my face into his chest and curled tight around him. I looked up into his sleepy, beautiful face and beamed.

"Morning, Jazz."

He smiled back, but I could see it was an effort as he bit back another yawn. "Likewise, sweet girl." The yawn escaped and he closed his eyes in its aftermath, pulling me tighter against him. "God, you're chipper, aren't you?"

"Morning person," I explained, wriggling free to press a hasty kiss to his cheek and jump out of bed. God, a shower sounded good. Behind me, I could hear Jasper groan.

"Christ, you would be."

"That's right, Grumpy. I'm gonna grab a quick shower and then make breakfast, 'kay?"

He passed a hand over his eyes, sunlight tangling itself in his eyelashes, and my breath caught as I reached for a clean set of clothes. He didn't notice, but mumbled "five more minutes" before rolling over to bury his face into my pillow.

I shook the stupor from my body and beat a quiet and hasty retreat for the bathroom.

* * *

Life was a little on edge for the next few days as Jasper got settled into our routines. Edward didn't like strangers, but something clicked between him and my golden-haired bad boy. They spent a lot of time together, reading Proust, or writing music, or just hanging out. I couldn't stop my heart from melting at the sight of two of my favorite men in the world getting along so well.

Emmett was a different story, but he was a work in progress. His hand would twitch every time Jasper sat down at the table with us for a meal and he barely spoke a word in passing to him for the first two days. I would catch them engaging in low but scathing conversations behind my back, but, slowly, the two began to accept each other. Barely.

I went back to school. I was barely scraping by, but with Jasper back and everything in my life finally falling into place, I could focus on my schoolwork and do what I loved without much to bother me.

I was picking up my things one day, sliding my battered laptop into my lovingly distressed leather bag, when the professor motioned for me to meet her after class. Mystified, I sat and waited until the rest of the students left before approaching the front of the lecture hall.

She shuffled a few papers before speaking. "Ms. Brandon, is it?"

I was surprised she knew my name. "Yes."

She peered at me seriously, but not unkindly, over her glasses. Her disposure softened almost imperceptibly. "Ms. Brandon, I have reason to believe that the victim of the school shooting back in November was you. Can you verify?"

"Wh-what? What do you mean?" An icy fist had closed itself around my stomach, and suddenly it was harder to breathe.

"I have it on good authority that it was you who was shot at, and that the attacker was none other than a Mr. Jasper Hale."

I bristled. People would judge him before even learning the full story. Shifting my bag over my shoulder, I stepped away from the podium and began walking quickly to the door.

"No disrespect, Professor, but I'm afraid you are very mistaken, and I really have to get going."

"Ah, but Ms. Brandon," she said, her voice full with a budding secret, "you must understand, I attained this information from a particularly singular source."

My spine chilled, even before I turned around. My response was a hoarse query. "Who?"

She motioned for someone to step out from her office, and my blood froze.

It was a young woman, thinner than I remembered her, shoddily dressed in old sweatpants and a hooded jacket. Her hair hung in matted clumps around her tired but still undeniably beautiful face. It took a few moments for her to gather the strength to raise her red-rimmed eyes to my face, but I already knew her. The familiar name left my lips in a whisper before I could stop it.

"Tanya."

* * *

a/n: I'm awfully sorry about the long wait. I can offer no better explanation than that harrower of order, life.

I hope this has lived up to expectation! And thank you , as always, for sticking through.


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